Ridge County Second Chance
by FlowrGrl77
Summary: Here is another from about a year ago. I had a comment on my other story that I write in an alternative universe. That much is true. I love F&C pairings! But I did have a period where I wrote them in many an AU setting. This is another such story. Callie, after being released from prison seeks to make her life right again, and meets her old flame Frank as a result.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey All- This is my second submission. Another F &C in their own AU that I wrote a year or so back. Callie returning to a life in the Tennessee mountains after being released from prison. She soon runs into her high school flame, Frank. Hope you like. I am working on a F&C story in their more known universe, but am having a bit of writing block. In the meantime I may submit another of my already finished works. I have always enjoyed writing them in an AU setting because it opens the doors to be more creative. I know it's not everyone's cup of tea, but hope you enjoy! I have put this into four longer chapters. **

* * *

The burly trucker's hand slid across her backside for the third time in the last half hour. He'd been drinking whiskey with beer chasers, which probably explained why he thought groping his waitress was a good idea.

But Callie Shaw was stone cold sober and the pitcher of draft beer in her left hand was full. On the fourth fumbling grab, she dumped the beer over the trucker's head.

Amid a roar of laughter, the trucker cursed, pushed to his feet and crowded Callie against the bar. The comical look of bewilderment in his eyes when he realized he was still three inches shorter than her was worth every penny of money she was going to lose when her boss got wind of her latest escapade.

"Damn it, Callie, what did I tell you about drenching my customers?" Joe Breslin approached, a couple of bar towels in one hand. Right on time.

"He kept putting his hand on my ass, Joe." She took one of the towels and patted down her apron where beer had splashed on her.

"And we talked about how to handle that, didn't we?" Joe's expression was taut with impatience. "Men come to this bar to drink and flirt and play pool, not get beer showers."

"I'll pay for the beer. You know I'm good for it."

The trucker called Callie a name that made even Joe, a rough and jaded Army vet, recoil. "Out!" he barked to the trucker, one heavy-muscled arm outstretched toward the door. "And if you're drivin', you damned well better sleep off all that whiskey in your cab before you get behind the wheel."

"I'm driving," said the young man who'd been sitting across the table from the trucker. "What does he owe?"

"Get him out of here, don't come back, and we'll call it even." Joe nodded toward the door.

As the young man guided the other trucker toward the exit, Joe turned back to Callie. "I can't keep doing this, Callie."

"I'll hold my temper next time," she promised.

Joe shook his head. "No, you won't. Look, if you promise not to take another bar job, I'll give you a good reference."

Callie's stomach tightened. "You're firing me?" He couldn't fire her. He just couldn't. To get Adelaide back, she needed a job. And in these parts, jobs were hard to come by even if your record was squeaky clean.

And Callie's was anything but.

"I warned you three times already, honey." Sighing, Joe caught her elbow gently in his beefy hand and led her toward the corner of the bar. "Even fellows who wouldn't harm a fly while stinkin' drunk are starting to shy away because of the dragon lady."

Callie drew back. "Dragon lady?"

Joe looked at her, one bushy eyebrow cocked.

She lowered her voice. "You know why I need this job."

"I do. It's why I've kept you this long. But I'm losing customers."

The door of the saloon opened, letting in a blast of hot August air barely tempered by nightfall. Callie waved her arm at the opening door. "And gaining new ones. You need me, Joe."

"Maybe I do, sugar," he said sadly."But I can't afford you anymore."

"Damn it, Joe!" In frustration, she jerked her arm away, turning quickly toward the door. Too quickly. Her high heeled boots slipped across the beer puddling on the saloon's cement floor, and she went sprawling headlong into one of the newcomers who'd just entered Smoky Joe's.

Strong arms caught her up against a hard, hot body. A low, raspy voice rumbled from his chest, taking Callie back a decade. "Hey there, Callie."

Lifting her gaze, she found herself drowning in a familiar pair of brown eyes. Her heart skipped a beat, then gave a helpless flop.

Frank Hardy was back in Ridge County.

((()))

Callie Shaw had been the best looking girl at Ridge County High School, all long legs, tawny skin, golden blonde hair and chameleon eyes that seemed to change color according to her mood. At the moment, the wide eyes gazing up at Frank were slate blue, dark with surprise and a hint of anger. She pushed herself upright and dropped her hands from his arms. "Frank, you're back."

"So I am."

"Hey there, Callie." Seth Hammond nudged Frank aside and shot Callie a toothy grin. "Long time, no see."

"Seth Hammond." Callie gave the other man the "don't try to play me" look she'd perfected in high school. "Heard you're walking the straight and narrow these days. Married some rich girl and you're about to be a daddy?"

"Something like that." Seth's smile widened.

"Congratulations." Callie's gaze swept back to Frank, coolly composed, her eyes lightening to the soft blue of a summer sky. "You look good. Still a Marine?"

He wished he could regain his own equilibrium as easily as she had seemed to do. "I retired earlier this year."

"Home for a visit?"

"No, back to stay." He nodded toward Joe Breslin, who was crouched over the spilled beer, mopping up the worst with a towel. He glanced up at Frank and gave a nod of greeting. "Did we walk in on some trouble?" Callie had always been a trouble magnet. He knew better than most.

"Just an employment opportunity gone terribly wrong." Callie unwrapped the navy apron from her waist and shot a dark look at Joe. "I'd best make myself scarce before Joe decides to dock my severance pay."

Joe let out a long-suffering sigh. "Callie, you know it ain't like that."

Callie breezed past him, dropped the apron on the bar and went into the bar's back room.

"What happened?" Frank asked.

"Patron got handsy, Callie didn't take kindly to it and gave him a beer shower." Joe shook his head. "She just can't control her temper around stupid drunks, and they can't seem to keep their hands off her backside."

Anger settled in the middle of Frank's forehead like a throbbing ache. "You fired her for not letting drunks grope her?"

"I fired her for dumping beer on his head instead of coming to me and lettin' me handle it." Joe sighed. "Look, I ain't one to let drunks come in here and abuse my employees. But I can't make a living if I let my employees abuse drunks, either."

"He has a point," Seth drawled.

Frank cut his eyes toward his colleague. Seth held up his hands and backed away.

"She ain't the girl you remember, kid," Joe murmured, his sudden look of sympathy making Frank's guts squirm. "She's even harder now. She had to be. She'll land on her feet like she always does."

"She shouldn't have to." Guilt eclipsing anger, Frank pushed past Joe and headed into the back of the bar, ignoring the older man's protest. A narrow hallway led back to a handful of rooms, most of them storage areas. At the very back of the building was a small area that clearly served as the employees' locker room.

It was empty.

Footsteps sounded behind him, heavy and slow-moving. Frank turned to see Joe Breslin in the doorway behind him, his expression sympathetic. "She's stayin' at her mama's old place these days."

"Thanks." Frank pushed past the bar owner and headed back to the front of the saloon, where he found Seth Hammond leaning against the bar, shelling a roasted peanut. He thumped his colleague on the arm. "Come on."

Seth caught up at the exit. "Where are we going?"

Stepping out in the muggy night air, Frank angled his chin toward the mountains visible in the east. "To see a woman about a job."

((()))

The trailer was old, small and still smelled faintly of pipe tobacco, despite numerous cleanings. It was the closest thing Callie had to a family legacy, the slightly rusted Airstream that had belonged to her mother's father. Alcohol and drugs had nearly wiped out that side of the family for good; other than distant cousins scattered around the South and Midwest, Callie and Adelaide were the only ones left.

Slumping in the rickety chair in the galley kitchen, she debated if she was hungry enough to eat before bedtime. There was precious little in the fridge or the pantry, since Joe had docked her pay twice in the last three months for pitchers of beer and, in one case, dry cleaning bills for an irate customer.

"Your temper gets you in trouble every time, Callie," her mama used to say. But Mama had never realized that Callie's temper had been the only thing keeping her sane back in the old days.

As she crossed to the refrigerator, she heard the sound of an automobile approaching. It stopped outside the trailer, the engine noise cutting off and dying away. Detouring to the high-set window next to the front door, she peered through faded curtains and saw Seth Hammond and Frank Hardy emerge from the cab of a dark green pickup truck.

Oh, hell.

Boots thudded on the wood stoop leading up to the trailer, followed by three sharp raps on the metal. Steeling herself, she opened the door and peered at her visitors through the rickety screen. "What?"

Seth grinned, but Frank looked tense and serious. "May we come in?"

She planted herself more firmly in front of the doorway. "Can it wait until morning? I'm tired, I smell like beer and I just want to go to bed."

For a second, heat flickered in Frank's eyes, and Callie felt a spark of response low in her belly, spreading heat and tremors up her spine. "You need a job," he said in that growly baritone that used to give her shivers when he said her name. "I have one to offer."

She stared at him, appalled by the burst of excitement flooding her chest. She tamped it down ruthlessly. Work with Frank? See him again every day, knowing that what they'd once had together, what she'd hoped they'd have forever, could never be again?

It would be hell.

 _But it's a job,_ whispered a practical voice in the back of her head that sounded a lot like her mother's. _And you need a job somethin' fierce._

"Are you in drug treatment, rehab or anything like that?"

"No," she answered, bristling. "You know I never touch the stuff."

"A lot's gone down since I was here last," he said bluntly. The words stung.

"You mean I spent five years in jail."

His eyes darkened. "I'm a private investigator. I need someone to help me with a sting. Right down your alley, and if you do well, it could become a more permanent job—fifteen dollars an hour, thirty-five hours a week guaranteed and more likely forty to forty-five. At fifty hours a week, you get time and a half for overtime. No vacation for six months, but after that, two weeks a year assuming you pass muster. Plus performance raises. And it might involve more field work now and then. You'd enjoy that." Frank bent closer to the screen door, the light from the kitchen making his hazel eyes look turbulent sea green. "You can start as early as tomorrow. What do you say?"

She looked from Frank to Seth, whose grin had faded. He was looking at Frank as if he'd lost his mind.

If she didn't take the offer now, she realized, it wasn't likely to repeat itself. And God knew she could use the money.

"I'll take it," she said.

And hoped like hell she wasn't making the worst mistake of her error-prone life.

((()))

I'd swear I hired you as an agent, not as a human resources coordinator." Alexander Quinn's voice was controlled, but warning signs flashed in his hazel eyes. "Yet here you are, hiring a new employee without so much as consulting me."

Frank had come in prepared for an argument. "We need to run this sting. And Ms. Walsh needs a job."

"Does she have any references?"

"Her last employer gave her high scores in dependability, adaptability and honesty."

Quinn's eyebrows ticked upward. "Her last employer was?"

"Joe Breslin."

"So, you've hired an ex-convict with an anger management problem, a family history of drug abuse and trafficking, and no job background in clerical work."

Frank should have known Quinn would already know all the details about Callie's past. The man missed nothing. First as a CIA agent, now as the head of The Gates, a private security and investigation firm, Quinn dealt in information. It was his job to be the one with the most information at the end of the day. "She's what we need. After talking to Penny Sheridan, Seth and I agree that the grifter targeting rich southern women will be looking for a new target soon. And based on his pattern of behavior, we think he'll be looking next for a mark in the Knoxville area. So we're going to give him one."

"You mean—"

"A woman named Callie Walters will be moving into a house in a very private, very exclusive place called Sanctuary Hill, east of Knoxville." Seeing the interest in his boss's eyes, Frank leaned forward to continue the pitch. "She's the only child of a recently deceased Texas oil magnate. Beautiful, filthy rich and bored with her life. She's looking for adventure and romance. The perfect mark."

Quinn stood and leaned toward him, the move clearly meant to exert authority. "And what in Ms. Walsh's résumé makes you believe she's capable of pulling off such an assignment?"

"She's quick on her feet and lies convincingly." Too convincingly sometimes, as he knew first hand.

"This is supposed to convince me to hire her?"

"She can play the role we're asking her to play." Frank stood to face Quinn. "When you hired me you said you trusted my judgment."

"Everyone makes mistakes." Quinn sat and leaned back in his chair. "This could cost you your job, you know."

Frank nodded. "I know."

"One week to lure your suspect into the trap."

"A week?" He hadn't even gotten all the pieces into place. Callie would need a new wardrobe, manicure, pedicure, hairstyling—earlier that morning she'd rattled off a list of things she'd have to do in order to play the role of a wealthy Texas socialite.

Quinn nodded toward the door. "The clock is ticking."

Frank left quickly, his mind already several steps ahead by the time he entered the agents' bullpen. Seth was on the phone, while Callie perched on the desk beside him, her knee-length skirt sliding up to reveal a hint of toned, tanned thigh. As if she heard the hitching sound of his skipping pulse, she slowly turned and pinned him with her blue-eyed gaze. A smile curved her lips and she rose to her feet, a golden goddess. And in that moment, he knew two things without doubt. One—despite her sketchy background, she would have no trouble convincing Sanctuary Hill society that she was a rich, beautiful heiress.

And two—despite more than a decade away from Ridge County, he had never gotten over Callie Shaw.


	2. Chapter 2

Your name is Callie Walters. You're twenty-nine years old, an only child, as rich as a Kennedy and as gullible as a two-year-old." Callie stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, barely recognizing the woman staring back at her. It had been years since she'd cared whether or not her hair was styled or her makeup was flawless.

Years since she'd cared much about anything or anyone at all.

Pasting on a cheerful smile, she opened the door.

Frank waited outside, his gaze sweeping over her. A smile quirked his lips. "There she is. That blonde bombshell who knocked my socks off at the junior-senior dance."

"Trust me, she never owned anything as nice as this." She waved at the slim-fitting sheath dress she'd chosen during her shopping spree the afternoon before. "Rachel was a huge help."

Seth's wife had been her shopping companion, taking Callie to the most expensive shops Maryville, Tennessee, had to offer. "We can order a few things, too, to round out your wardrobe," Rachel had said with the breezy tone of a woman for whom money had never been an issue.

For Callie, money had been an elusive means to whatever end dangled perpetually out of her reach. And when she'd caught a glimpse of the bill before Rachel handed it over to her husband, her heart had nearly stopped.

"You remember your backstory?" His hand brushed against the small of her back as she passed, sending awareness skittering up her spine.

"I'm rich, I'm Texan and I'm dumb as a stump." She put on her best Texas twang, one she'd picked up from her Dallas cousins years ago when they'd come to Tennessee for a stay. Mimicry was one of her more useful talents, one that had gotten her out of her share of messes over the years.

Frank smiled. "Naive, not stupid."

"Potato, po-tah-to." She flashed him a quick smile, hoping it was enough to cover her rattled nerves."Who are you, my bodyguard? My hunky chauffeur?"

"All of the above. My job is to melt into the background while you take center stage." He reached out and touched her cheek, his eyes darkening as her gaze snapped up to meet his. "Mascara smudge. All fixed."

She took a shaky breath. "Are you sure this is going to work?"

His faint smile faded. He dropped his hand to his side. "It better. We have six more days to suck this guy into our web."

"What if we don't?"

"Then some other woman is going to get bilked of her money."

She followed him to the large, marble-floored foyer of the borrowed home, a sprawling two-story colonial that belonged to Rachel Hammond's stepmother Debra. It had been on the market for over a year without a purchaser, luckily for them. Now it was Callie Walters's new home for however long it took to hook a conman.

Frank opened the ornate front door, but as she started to exit, he put out his arm, blocking her path. He bent close, his voice dropping to a gravelly half-whisper. "If you want to back out, now's the time."

She met his gaze, her chin coming up out of old habit. One thing Callie Shaw had never been was a quitter. "No backing out."

He dropped his arm and gave her an approving look that swept over her like a warm wave. "Ms. Walters, your carriage awaits." Offering his arm, he walked her to the silver Mercedes parked at the curb.

Settled in the back seat, Callie took a slow, deep breath and met her own reflection in the rear view mirror.

 _Showtime,_ she thought.

((()))

The wall of windows in Sanctuary Hill Country Club's oak-paneled ballroom overlooked the mirror surface of Douglas Lake, but none of the bejeweled attendees took notice of the stunning vista once Callie Shaw entered the room.

She was as magnificent as Frank had known she'd be, all long legs, gleaming sun-kissed skin and golden hair that framed her flawless bone structure in soft waves. Her dress, though modestly cut, skimmed her body like a caress, and the bold black and white pattern drew the eye to her delectable curves.

He relinquished her arm. "Ready?"

She met his gaze with cool poise, but unease flickered in her eyes. They were deep blue tonight, picking up tones of twilight from the nearby windows. "What if she hates me?"

Eliza emerged from the milling crowd, a beautiful, aging lioness. She stretched out her hands to Callie, her face a lacy network of fine lines when she smiled. "Callie, my dear, welcome to Tennessee!" She caught Callie's hands, offering her cheek for a kiss.

As Callie bent to greet her, Frank moved toward the outer edges of the ballroom to join the other nameless men and women in dark suits cut generously to cover holstered weapons, security contractors hired to keep the party-goers safe and solvent. There were hundreds of thousands of dollars in jewelry alone moving about the ballroom. Millions worth of ransom as well.

And in the case of the gorgeous blonde now moving about with her hand hooked through her hostess's elbow, about twenty million non-existent dollars dangling as bait for a conman with expensive tastes.

Frank scanned the room with as much nonchalance as he could muster, Penny Sheridan's description in mind. Male, fortyish, trim and athletic. Sandy brown hair and blue eyes—but Frank knew those attributes were easily changed. He and Seth Hammond had compiled a list of about ten potential scams they believed to be linked to their unknown suspect, based on the man's _modus operandi._

In Penny Sheridan's case, he'd gone by the name Ellis Gentry. He'd presented himself as a real estate speculator with a soft spot for charity. Gentry's M.O. was to go after unattached wealthy women, usually at fundraising events such as the Appalachian Children's Fund mixer they were currently attending. He'd bilked nearly four hundred thousand dollars from Penny Sheridan; if they were right about some of his previous scams, he'd taken close to two million dollars total from seven different women in Tennessee, southern Virginia and western North Carolina.

Penny Sheridan had been taken to the cleaners in Chattanooga, and the next stop on his so-far circular tour of the area was Knoxville.

If he was here tonight, he'd find oil heiress Callie Walters irresistible.

"Lord, what a fancy crowd!" The female voice, low and drawling, sent a shockwave rolling up Callie's spine. The crab puff she'd just lifted from the canapé tray slipped from her trembling fingers and hit the parquet floor with a soft splat.

She looked for the speaker, her heart pounding. There. Dressed in the white shirt and black trouser uniform of the wait staff, her wavy auburn hair pulled back in a neat ponytail, stood Kim Coker, former denizen of cell seventeen at the Tennessee Women's Prison.

Callie's old roommate.

Kim's gaze swept in Callie's direction, and Callie turned away quickly, hoping Kim hadn't spotted her. If she did, and she saw past the expensive trappings to the scrappy mountain girl underneath, Callie's undercover op would be over almost before it began.

((()))

Frank saw sheer panic in Callie's blue eyes as she crossed quickly to where he stood near the wall. "One of the wait staff knows me."

He listened with growing alarm as Callie tersely explained how she'd almost run into someone she'd met in prison. When they'd vetted the guest list for the fundraiser to make sure there was no one who might know Callie from her youth in Bitterwood, they hadn't even thought about the wait staff. It should have been the first thing they'd considered.

"Just steer clear of her." He nodded toward Eliza Harrington, who was headed their way. "Go with Mrs. Harrington. I'll see what I can do."

His mind already clicking several steps ahead, he intercepted the waitress named Kim Coker on her way out of the ballroom. "Miss?"

Kim Coker gave him a curious look. "Can I help you?"

"Mr. Merriwether is worried about the wine inventory and wants someone to make sure there's enough on hand for the rest of the party. Are you able to handle that?"

Kim looked relieved at the thought of escaping the party. "You bet."

Frank watched her slip out of the room, releasing a gusty sigh of relief. That had been close.

Too close.

"These are blurry." Penny Sheridan sounded doubtful over the phone.

"I couldn't exactly aim my breast at people and tell them to say cheese," Callie muttered.

Frank shot her a warning look as he reviewed the screenshots from the brooch camera Callie had worn on her dress at the fundraiser. "I'm not asking you to identify anyone, Ms. Sheridan. But can you eliminate anyone?"

"The man with the green tie is definitely out," Penny said. "Ellis was much taller."

As Frank jotted on the notepad in front of him, Callie stretched her legs and slumped against the sofa cushions. Her feet were killing her, every muscle in her body sore from all the tension of the evening at the country club, and instead of soaking in a hot bath, she was stuck doing a post-mortem of her unsuccessful night out to a rich woman who'd made the mistake of trusting the wrong man.

Lord, she could tell Penny Sheridan a few "wrong man" stories that would make her hair curl.

And about the right one she'd driven away.

Frank ended the conversation with Penny Sheridan and looked at Callie. "Good job tonight. Even the bodyguards were buzzing about that gorgeous Texas heiress." His voice warmed, and the look in his eyes softened. "You were a hit."

Pleasure flitted through her, but she quelled it with ruthless determination. "But our conman didn't make a move."

"He may not have been there. It wasn't an easy party to get into."

"I know." She'd been shocked to learn that Penny Sheridan had donated fifty thousand dollars in the name of Callie Walters in order to give Callie cover for her attendance at the fundraiser."Ms. Sheridan is spending a lot of money to recover four hundred thousand dollars."

"It's not about the money." Frank shrugged off his jacket and laid it over the back of the sofa. In a white dress shirt, black trousers and a brown leather holster housing a large pistol, he gave off an intoxicating blend of sophistication and dangerous power. "She wants him stopped."

"She wants to stop feeling like a fool."

"Yes." Frank sat on the coffee table in front of her, his hands lifting to cradle her jaw. For a heart-stopping second, she thought he was going to kiss her. Then she felt the tug of his fingers on her ears. "These have to go back into the safe for the night. I promised Quinn."

He eased the diamond studded hoops from her earlobes. When he finally moved away, she felt as if he'd snapped a cord holding her upright. "What's next?"

He curled his fist around the earrings and gazed down at her, his eyes as dark as a forest at nightfall. "We sweeten the bait."

"Meaning?"

His lips curved in a smile that flooded her belly with heat. "You're going to get a little use out of that new bikini you bought."

((()))

Bitterwood, Tennessee, was a tiny place, and even growing up on different sides of the mountain hamlet, there'd been no way Frank and Callie could have made it all the way to their senior year of high school without some level of acquaintance.

But his father had been a church pastor, and hers had been a wife-beating meth cook. Callie's circle of friends had encompassed the hard-eyed, tough-minded kids who'd grown up with her on Smoky Ridge, while Frank had been a football star with a bright future stretching out ahead of him as far as the eye could see.

Then he'd broken his leg and had to sit out his last season of football. Hobbling on crutches, he'd made the mistake of dropping all his books in the middle of a crowd of Smoky Ridge kids just looking for some payback for all the garbage the popular kids had shoveled their way over the years.

They'd been merciless—until Callie had swooped in, all long legs and big blue eyes ablaze with anger. She'd backed the others off and helped him gather up the books he'd dropped, though her parting shot, "Hobble on back to your own crowd, superstar—I ain't always gonna be here to save your fine ass," shouldn't have endeared her to him.

But somehow, it had.

Alexander Quinn's voice buzzed in Frank's ear through the cell phone. "Any movement?"

Frank looked across the clubhouse pool to the lounge chair where Callie was soaking up the August sun while a half-dozen male club members sneaked peeks at her long legs and little red bikini.

South of his own belt buckle he felt more than a little movement himself. He dragged his gaze from the lounge chair. "Negative."

"Five more days," Quinn murmured, then hung up.

Frank started to pocket his phone when he spotted a man in dark blue swimming trunks take the empty lounge chair next to Callie. He looked to be trim, fit and in his mid-forties. Dark hair, not sandy, but hair was easy enough to color.

Pretending to continue talking on the phone, Frank opened the camera app, zoomed in on the tableau and snapped several shots of the man now sitting on the edge of the lounge chair, chatting with Callie.

Pocketing the camera again, he moved slowly to the other side of the pool toward the shaded cabana situated a few feet away from where Callie and her new acquaintance were conversing. He ordered ice water with lime and settled at one of the small tables under the awning that shaded the cabana from the midday sun.

He couldn't make out any of the quiet talk passing between Callie and the newcomer, but the recorder in her bag would catch the conversation and she could fill him in on any nuances the audio didn't capture.

Like the way the son of a bitch was touching her hand as he spoke. Or the way she was laughing as if he was the most amusing bastard in the world.

 _Focus, Frank. This is a mission. She's the honey trap. He's the target. She's doing what you asked of her._

If only she were doing it with a little less enthusiasm.

The dark-haired man rose with a final, lingering brush of fingers across her hand. "Tonight?" he asked loudly enough for Frank to hear.

Callie flashed the man a bright smile. "Can't wait."

Frank waited until the man entered the clubhouse before he wandered over to the lounge chair. "Tonight?"

The excitement in Callie's eyes as she smiled up at him made his chest hurt. "I have a date."


	3. Chapter 3

Next to Callie, Frank was a wall of stony silence, barely acknowledging her presence in the Mercedes.

"Did I mess up?" She twisted to look at him."Just tell me what has you so pissed off."

He shot her a side-eye look. "I'm not pissed, and you didn't mess up."

He most certainly _was_ pissed, she thought. He showed all the signs—tight jaw muscles, lowered brow, flashing brown eyes.

She settled back against the seat, feeling queasy. If she'd already screwed up this job, what chance did she have of talking Frank's boss into keeping her on at The Gates long-term?

She needed this job. And, if she was honest with herself, she also needed to prove to Frank that she wasn't the same messed-up girl he'd known all those years ago. He'd left town thinking the worst. She didn't want that scared girl behind prison bars to be his last memory of her.

"We need to make sure the audio recorded," he said.

She picked up the bag next to her and pulled out the voice-activated digital recorder they'd hidden inside. Pushing the play button, she sat back and let the audio roll.

After a few false starts, she heard the warm, musical voice of the man who'd called himself Dave Blaylock. "That's him," she murmured.

Blaylock had been handsome and charming. He gave off an air of wealth and confidence, and he'd been a good listener, drawing out details about her made-up life without seeming to try.

Frank parked the Mercedes in the garage and disarmed the security system while she waited. He opened the door, nodding for her to enter first. As she brushed past him, her shoulder sliding across his chest, he took a sharp, swift intake of breath.

Callie froze, heat flooding her until her insides trembled. She turned to look up at him, acutely aware how close they were standing, how easily she could take a step forward and press her body against his.

His eyes blazed fire back at her, and her heart began to pound.

It had been a long time since she'd been this close to Frank Hardy, but she hadn't forgotten what he looked like in the throes of desire.

The man standing in front of her, so close his breath stirred the hair at her temples, wanted her.

And God help her, she wanted him back.

She smelled like Spring Break at Panama City Beach, all cocoa butter and sunshine, and the sweet, hot promise of first love. He felt himself falling into her, even though neither of them moved.

"Remember Panama City?" she murmured, as if reading his mind.

"Vividly."

She placed her palm flat against his chest, as if trying to feel his heartbeat. Lifting her gaze to meet his, she managed a sad smile. "We almost made it, didn't we?"

Pain bloomed in his chest, spreading and burning. "Almost." He slid away from her touch, no longer able to bear it. He kept his back to her as he carried her tote bag to the kitchen counter and pulled out the recorder.

"I'm going to shower and change. Why don't you call Penny and see if that's Ellis's voice?" She moved past him out of the room.

He waited for the ache in his chest to subside.

It didn't.

((()))

Penny Sheridan listened to the recording over the phone twice before she spoke. "It could be him, I guess. That's not the accent he used, but the voice is the right timbre. Do you have a photo of him?"

"I'll email it," he said, trying not to let his mind wander upstairs to the bathroom, where Callie was naked under a spray of hot water. "I'll also download the audio file from the recorder to my computer so I can send that as well. Maybe it'll be clearer without phone interference."

"I know you think I'm a fool to spend so much money to catch this man," Penny said, her embarrassment evident even through the tinny phone connection. "But he took more than money."

"I know." The sound of footsteps drew Frank's attention away from the phone. Callie had walked into the room, her flip-flops thudding softly against the hardwood floor of the den. She smiled as she settled into the soft cushions of the armchair across from him.

She'd dressed casually in a tank top and running shorts that showed off the full length of her toned, tanned legs. The morning at the clubhouse pool had added a hint of extra gold to her sleek arms and shoulders, and a splash of rosy color to her nose and cheeks.

Her eyes, the brilliant azure of a summer sky, met his curiously, and he realized Penny Sheridan was speaking again.

"I never thought I'd marry. I never met anyone I could see spending my life with, and I don't need a second income, so I just thought I'd live alone for the rest of my life."

"And then you met Ellis," Callie said quietly.

On the other end of the line, Penny sighed. "He made me believe I could be in love. And that's why I want him stopped." A moment later, there was a click and the call ended. Frank looked up to see Callie's gaze on him, tears trembling on her lower lashes.

"It's a terrible thing, believing in forever and having it ripped away." She unfolded her long limbs and rose quickly, leaving the room without another word.

 _Tell me about it,_ he thought, rising to follow.

There had been a garden in the side yard, complete with a stone-circled pool where koi had, no doubt, lived a fat, well-fed life at some point. But the pool was mostly empty now, save for decaying leaves from the previous autumn and a sad puddle of rainwater shimmering green with algae. The monkey grass rimming the stone pond was overgrown and sickly, and the perennial flowers and ground cover that had once formed the garden were a riotous tangle of neglected, fading beauty.

If this were really her house, Callie though with a bleak smile, she could make this garden beautiful again.

But it wasn't. She couldn't. And wishing for things that just couldn't ever be was a fine way to make yourself crazy.

The door to the side patio opened and closed. Footsteps sounded on the freeform mosaic of flagstones that led from the house to the small pond, but she didn't look up.

He settled on the river stone wall of the pond beside her. "This place could use a better caretaker."

"Yeah." She looked away from the brackish water at the bottom of the pond. "Things get away from you if you're not paying attention."

"I know." The bleak tone of his voice forced her gaze up to meet his. She regretted it immediately; the pain radiating from those brown eyes felt like a body blow. "Why did you do it?"

((()))

She didn't pretend not to know what he was asking. "Does it matter?"

"I guess not." His gaze skimmed across the unkempt flower beds. "It's just—you were so happy when we talked that morning. So eager to go."

"I was."

"What happened? Why did you go with them instead of meeting me?"

She'd been keeping the secret of that night so long, it was hard to consider telling even a portion of the truth. But her sister was dead. The secret couldn't really hurt her anymore, could it?

"I didn't." She forced the words from her lips, words she'd never told anyone before, not even her lawyer. "I didn't go with them that night. I didn't get there until just before the police arrived."

She made herself look at him, watch the confusion crinkle his brow and darken his eyes. "You were the getaway car driver, Callie. You went to jail for five years because of it."

"I didn't drive the car. I didn't know anything about it until—" Her throat seemed to close up as the words tried to escape. She swallowed convulsively, looking down at her twisting hands.

"Oh, God," Frank whispered.

She looked up sharply, saw the understanding dawning on his face. The terrible realization of what she'd done and why.

"Your sister was driving the car, wasn't she?"

She took a deep breath and made herself answer. "Yes."

A chill washed over Frank, despite the early afternoon heat. His life, so structured, so ordered, seemed to be trembling on the edge of shattering apart completely with that one soft word.

His hand twitched toward her, but he stopped it, not sure he trusted himself, not sure whether he wanted to comfort her or shake her for what she'd sacrificed all those years ago.

He settled for a low, raspy question. "Why?"

Her blue eyes snapped up to meet his gaze, glittering with unshed tears. "You know why."

Of course he did. Her fierce protectiveness of her twin sister had been one of the things he'd loved most about her.

"She was supposed to go to college. Become a doctor. Be the Shaw sister who made something of herself." The first of the tears fell, sliding down her cheek. "I knew it couldn't be me. I'd burned all my bridges. Messed up my permanent record so much not even a junior college wanted to take a chance on me. But Sable was set. She'd kept her nose clean. She had a chance." Her voice broke. "She was almost there, damn it!"

"She was mixed up with Jeff Dawes?" Even now, even knowing the truth after so long, the name Jeff Dawes sent a shaft of rage through him, sharp and cutting. He'd spent twelve years thinking of him as the man who'd destroyed his life.

He still did, he supposed. That much hadn't changed.

"He held a certain appeal."

"For you, too?"

The look she shot his way felt like a punch. "She didn't know he was going to rob Mr. Kingsley. I swear."

Protecting Sable, even now. "What happened?"

"It happened the way I told the police." She unfolded her long legs and rose to cross the flagstone walkway, coming to a stop next to an unkempt crape myrtle bush. She plucked a pale pink flower cluster and studied it as she spoke. "I just left out the part where Sable ran to the pay phone outside the store and called me."

"Did Sable become a doctor?" As soon as he asked the question, her fallen expression answered it. His gut twisted into a tighter knot.

"Sable's dead."

((()))

The grief burning like acid inside her felt fresh, though Sable had been gone for nearly a year.

Frank took a couple of steps toward her. "What happened?"

"Meth happened." She closed her eyes, feeling too vulnerable to see the concern in his gaze. "She overdosed about a year ago."

She heard his footsteps, felt the heat of his body slide over hers just before he stopped in front of her and took her hands in his. "I'm so sorry."

"It was stupid. Such a waste." Her voice broke on a soft sob. "Everything was a waste."

He released her hands and cradled her face between his palms, making her look at him. "Not everything."

He looked so kind. So understanding.

So like the boy who'd stolen her stony heart all those years ago. She curled her fingers around his hands, holding them in place against her cheeks. "I know you don't understand why I did it."

"I do understand." He rested his forehead against hers. "I just wish you'd told me."

"I didn't tell anyone," she admitted. "Not even my lawyer."

"And Sable let you do it?" He sounded both incredulous and angry.

She pulled away from him. "Don't."

Frank pressed his lips to a thin line, but he didn't say anything else.

"She was scared. And guilty. But I made her promise not to tell anyone anything about it. Ever. I told her to go to college. Be a doctor. Make it all worthwhile."

"But she didn't."

Pain lanced through her. "No."

"So everything you sacrificed was for nothing." He looked sick.

She caught his hand as he started to move away, holding him in place. "Not for nothing."

He shook his head, eyes narrowing."Then for what?"

"Sable had a baby. A little girl." Just thinking about Adelaide's cherub face and big blue eyes made Callie smile. "Her name's Adelaide. She'll be two this December, and she's so amazing."

"Where is she?"

Callie's smile faded. "DCS has her."

Frank frowned. She knew he hadn't had any first-hand dealings with the Tennessee Department of Children's Services the way Callie and Sable had with their volatile parents, but like anyone growing up in Bitterwood, he'd seen the welfare agency at work. They were perennially overworked and underfunded. Try as they might, they couldn't keep kids from falling through the cracks.

"Where's her father?"

"He's not in the picture." She couldn't bring herself to admit that Sable wasn't sure who the father was. "I've been trying to get custody, but—"

"But you have a record."

"And I haven't been able to hold a steady job since I got out of prison," she added with a guilty grimace. "Maybe I'm _not_ fit to be her mother."

He caught her face between his hands again. "You love her, right? You're willing to sacrifice for her, or you wouldn't have been working at Smoky Joe's. Or have taken this job, sight unseen."

She nodded. "I know I'm a screw up. I may not be the ideal guardian for a little girl. But I love her. And I'm determined to be the person she needs me to be. Whatever it takes."

"Whatever it takes?" His eyes narrowed as if he was trying to see into her soul.

Her internal walls rose, trying to shut him out. But this time, she struggled to stay open, to let him see the real person she was inside, the one she wanted to be all the time. "Yes."

He brushed his thumb against her lower lip. "Then marry me."

((()))

Frank's words faded into silence, and for a hushed moment, there seemed to be no sound at all, not even the rustle of a summer breeze in the trees or the twitter of birdsong. Callie's eyes were a mirror of the cloudless August sky overhead, offering no glimpse of her thoughts.

He dropped his hands away from her face. "Or not."

Her lips curved suddenly, a bubble of laughter escaping her throat.

The corners of his own mouth tilted upward. "I guess I could have come up with a more useful suggestion."

She reached up with one slim hand and touched his face. "Always trying to fix my problems."

"I didn't stop caring."

She lifted her other hand, cradling his face as he'd held hers earlier. "I know you loved me. I know those feelings don't just disappear overnight."

 _Or ever,_ he thought.

"But I'm a grown woman, my track record notwithstanding. Adelaide is _my_ issue and I will figure out a way to get custody of her."

"You have a new job now," he reminded her. "Good pay and benefits."

Her lips quirked. "A company that hires the likes of me and Seth Hammond?"

"Seth is a good guy. He's worked hard to overcome his reputation."

She dropped her hands away from his face. "I'm not being cavalier about this opportunity. I promise you that."

"Let's get you through this assignment, and then we'll see what we can do about convincing the DCS that you're a good option for your niece." He turned too quickly, wincing at the pain skating through his spine.

To his dismay, Callie didn't miss the show of pain. She laid her hand on his arm. "What's wrong? Are you hurt?"

"Old war injury," he joked, although it was also the truth. "Had to eject during a bombing run about a year ago. Hurt my back."

"Ouch." She winced. "Are you okay?"

"Not allowed to fly a jet anymore, but otherwise—"

Her expression softened. "I'm sorry. I know how much you loved the idea of being a pilot."

"I'm alive. That's more than a lot of guys I fought with can say." He forced a smile. "And I got to fly for years. Lived my dream for a long time."

"What now? What's your dream now?"

He didn't know how to answer that question. It had been something he'd pondered since the Marine Corps had declared him unfit as a pilot. He'd had the option of remaining in the service, but his heart wasn't in it if he couldn't fly.

"I'm still trying to figure that out," he said finally.

"Join the club, Frank." She smiled a toothy grin that brightened her eyes and sent him reeling back to a time when they'd been young and full of hope.

God, he'd loved her then. A deep, breathless, endless kind of love he thought would never, ever die.

Her smile faded, her gaze locking with his, drawing him to her, steel to her magnet. Her lips trembled apart, and for a heart-stopping moment, he was eighteen again, his whole world encompassed in those bright blue eyes.

She stepped closer, warming him with her fire, and he closed the rest of the distance, bending his head to kiss her for the first time in twelve years.


	4. Chapter 4

Oh lord, his kisses still made her feel like sparklers were going off in her brain and setting her whole soul on fire. She wrapped her arms around his neck before her legs gave out beneath her, drinking from his lips that same heady mixture of sweetness and passion they'd once planned to share for a lifetime.

But time and distance had distilled away some of the sweetness and darkened the passion to a rich, intoxicating brew.

His tongue brushed the seam of her lips, and she let him in, thrilling in the feel of his hunger for her, a bittersweet remnant of a past she'd believed was lost to her forever.

 _It's still lost,_ a quiet voice tried to remind her, but it was swallowed whole by the clamor of desire that swamped her as he deepened the kiss and pulled her closer.

"Hello?" The male voice floated through her consciousness a second before Frank released her and took a step back, robbing Callie of his warmth and support. She took a stumbling step sideways and ended up dropping with a thump to the stone wall of the empty koi pond. Her bangs fell forward into her eyes, blurring the sight of Frank straightening both his clothes and his spine as he walked toward the patio door.

"Miss Walters?" The voice rang out again, louder this time, and Callie brushed her hair back from her face and pasted on a smile as she recognized the soft drawl of the man who'd introduced himself earlier that morning as Dave Blaylock.

She rose, relieved to find that her wobbly knees had steadied considerably now that Frank was standing a few yards away under the shade of the patio awning. She crossed to the chain-link fence that hemmed in the neglected garden and greeted her surprise visitor with what she hoped was the right blend of pleasure and surprise. "Mr. Blaylock. I thought we agreed to meet at the club for dinner tonight."

"We did, indeed, and I apologize for showing up without calling, but you never gave me your number."

"Is there something you need?" she asked, trying to walk the line between over-eager and overly-cautious.

"Actually, I read about an antique gallery opening going on today and tomorrow in a town in the Smokies. It's less than an hour's drive—I thought perhaps we could change our plans and head there for dinner instead? I did some research and there's a quaint little diner in town where we could stop and eat, if you don't mind a little home cooking."

She spared a quick glance toward the shadows of the patio, where Frank stood as still as stone. "I'm not sure we should venture so far from home for our first dinner together."

Dave smiled."Perhaps we can visit the Bitterwood Antique Gallery some other time, then."

A shiver darted down the back of Callie's neck. Bitterwood? He had been talking about Bitterwood? Everybody in that little town knew exactly who—and what—she was. And it certainly wasn't a Texas oil heiress.

"Miss Walters?" Frank's deep voice, suddenly close behind her, gave her a start.

She whipped her head around. "Yes?"

"Your two o'clock conference call is about to start. You asked me to remind you." He gave a nod of greeting to Dave Blaylock, then locked gazes with her again. "Shall I ask them to postpone?"

"No." She spared a final smile for Dave. "I look forward to this evening, Mr. Blaylock."

"Please. Call me Dave."

"Dave." She turned in dismissal and followed Frank back to the house. Once inside, beyond the view of any prying eyes, she turned and pressed her face against Frank's shoulder. "Too close," she murmured.

Frank's arms tightened around her. "What if that was a test?"

She pulled her head back to look at him. "A test?"

He let her go, his hands sliding slowly down her arms until they linked fingers. "What if he knows you're not who you say you are?"

((()))

I don't like his just dropping by." Frank glanced toward the kitchen window, where Callie stood looking out at the front lawn.

Seth Hammond's voice drawled through the phone line. "If it's our guy, it may just mean he's eager to get started with the wooing."

Frank lowered his voice. "And if he's figured out she's a plant?"

"He's more likely to head for the next town than do anything to her. He's not shown any violent tendencies."

"That we know of." Frank didn't like unnecessary risks. And he especially didn't like unnecessary risks that involved Callie Shaw. Her life had been one hell after another, and here he was putting her in grave danger—for what? Because he'd wanted an excuse to keep her around? "I think we need to kill the operation."

Callie turned to look at him. "What?"

"We can't kill it," Seth said reasonably. "Penny Sheridan has put a lot of money into this operation.

"We're not backing out." Callie crossed to where he sat, plucked the phone from his hand and spoke into it."We'll call you back, Seth." She pushed the disconnect button and put the phone down on the table in front of Frank. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I don't trust this Dave Blaylock guy, or whatever his name really is."

She glared at him, her eyes a frigid blue. "I need this job. You know I do."

"You can do the secretarial stuff I also hired you to do."

"You think I don't know you made up this whole job because you felt sorry for me?" She reached across the space between them and put her hand on his arm. "I know I don't have the credentials to be an office assistant. Or the record to pass a background check. You had to twist arms to get me in on this sting, right?"

He couldn't deny it, so he remained quiet.

Her grip softened, became something just short of a caress. "I'm grateful. And I'm going to do everything I can to get this job right. So maybe your boss will see my worth. But if I bail out now, in the middle of a sting, there's no way he'll keep me on."

"I could talk to him."

"You're on a deadline as it is." Her fingers slid along the length of his arm, sending hot little shivers running through him. "And if I get this right, I'll have leverage to get a job for real. Something that might impress the DCS. I might have a chance to get custody of Adelaide before they decide to make her available for adoption."

"I can't shake this feeling there's something wrong—"

"We'll be at the club in a public dining area. And you'll be nearby right? What could happen?" She rose and dropped a light kiss on his forehead. "I've got to get ready for my date. Try not to worry, okay?"

He could try, he supposed.

But he didn't think he was going to succeed.

((()))

Dave Blaylock was their guy.

There wasn't any one thing he'd said or done since they'd met in the country club's wood-paneled pub restaurant an hour ago, but Callie had a well-honed radar for men who were nothing but trouble.

Dave Blaylock was trouble on steroids, though he hid it well.

"I like to drink life in big gulps," Dave said with a smile, his eyes warm as they met hers over his tumbler of scotch.

She smiled back, took a tiny sip of her white wine, and wondered if there was a way to get him to play his hand a little early. "I'm a sipper, myself. Life can be overwhelming sometimes." She reached across the table to touch his arm. "But I admire your gusto. Maybe you can teach me how to take more risks."

He laid his hand over hers, holding it in place. There was nothing objectionable about the friendly touch, but she had to quell a shudder anyway. "How about tonight?"

"Tonight?" She hoped she sounded interested instead of alarmed.

"There's a meteor shower tonight. Should be visible around midnight, and I know just the spot in the mountains where we'll have an amazing view."

"Just us?" she asked, glancing across the room just long enough to make sure Frank was still at the bar, nursing a ginger ale and watching her like a hawk. "I'm not sure my bodyguard would agree to that!"

Dave laughed. "I'm sure he wouldn't. But is he really going to tag along on all our dates in the future?"

"Maybe not in the future," she said with what she hoped was an encouraging smile. She could tell Dave liked the idea of getting her alone, and maybe she should be using his eagerness to her advantage. If he made a move to bring up money—hint at a loan, maybe, or suggest an investment—this whole sting could move forward faster than they hoped.

Frank and Seth told her the guy had never shown any violent tendencies and was more likely to run than engage if he got suspicious.

And she needed this sting to work. Adelaide needed it.

She took a deep breath and leaned closer, her smile widening. "Or maybe—I might be able to give him the slip tonight."

Dave quirked his eyebrows. "I believe you just took your first big gulp of life, my dear."

She shot him her most dazzling grin. "I think you're right."

He leaned closer to her, his hand caressing hers. "What do you have in mind?"

"I'm going to make a visit to the ladies' room. I believe there's a side exit near there used by the staff." She'd noticed some of the waitresses going in and out of the door earlier that evening when she'd gone to the restroom to calm her ragged nerves before Dave arrived. "Have the waiter bring the check and put it on my tab. You can pay me back later."

His eyes flickered with a sort of excitement she knew all too well. A scam artist with a fool in his crosshairs.

"I'll tell my fairy godfather that I'm going to the little girl's room," she said, gently tugging her hand from beneath his. "Then I'll meet you in the parking lot by the fountain."

Frank watched her all the way in as she crossed the room to the bar where he sat. "What are you doing?" he asked quietly.

"Going to the bathroom, ostensibly."

"Ostensibly?" His lips quirked slightly at the word. "Somebody did some reading while I was gone."

"Lots of time for reading in the pen," she murmured.

His half-smile faded. "What are you really going to be doing?"

She glanced over her shoulder and saw Dave motioning for a nearby waitress. "Reeling in a flim-flam man."

((()))

Anything new on this Dave Blaylock guy?" Frank answered his ringing cell phone without a greeting once he saw Seth Hammond's name on the display screen, his gaze going back to his tablet, where a GPS tracking program was updating every minute, giving him a visual on Callie's position. She and Blaylock were halfway up Moak's Bluff, heading for the overlook, according to the text Callie had sent him just before she met up with Blaylock in the clubhouse parking lot.

"Nothing yet. I emailed a former acquaintance that screenshot you got of Blaylock, but I haven't heard back yet." Seth sounded more curious than worried. Frank wished he could be so laid-back about the mission, but having Callie out of his sight—save for a little red dot on the GPS program map—was making him crazy.

"And we're sure this guy we're tracking isn't a physical threat to the women he cons?"

"No sign of foul play so far."

"So far," Frank repeated, waiting for the red dot to appear a little farther up the road on the map.

"Maybe my old pal will know more." Seth sounded unconcerned.

A couple of seconds later, the red dot moved, heading up the bluff toward the overlook. Frank released a soft exhalation. "Get back to me when you hear from him, either way." He hung up and picked up the binoculars sitting on the passenger seat of the Mercedes.

It would have been better if he'd had time to trade out the sedan for his sturdy pickup truck, but he hadn't wanted to waste time, since he'd had to stay behind longer than he'd have liked in order to give Callie the head start she needed to keep Blaylock from getting suspicious.

Now he couldn't shake the feeling that he'd given her too much of a head start.

"I don't remember seeing anything in the news about a meteor shower." Callie kept her tone light and coy. "Are you sure this isn't the sophisticated version of a snipe hunt you're taking me on?"

Dave flashed her a toothy grin. "Would that be so bad?"

She clung to her smile, shaking her head. But inside, her stomach was twisting into a painful knot.

Something wasn't right. She was more certain than ever Dave Blaylock was the con artist formerly known as Ellis Gentry, who'd bilked Penny Sheridan and several other women out of a whole lot of money. But from what she'd learned about his M.O. from Frank, the man liked to take his time to lure his target to him instead of giving a girl the hard sell.

So why was he rushing this time?

She knew Frank was tracking the GPS signal from her phone. He wouldn't let her get far out of his sight, would he? Everything was going to be fine. She wasn't in danger.

She hoped.

Frank grabbed his cell phone on the first ring. "Something from your friend?" he asked Seth.

"You need to get her out of there, Frank!"

His heart skipped a beat at the grim tone of Seth's voice. "What happened?"

"My friend recognized Blaylock. Definitely the same guy who bilked Penny Sheridan and those other women. His real name is Steven Sanford."

"And?"

"I just ran a check. He's wanted for questioning in Mississippi. Two women he was seeing there went missing and were never found."

((()))

From the Moak's Bluff scenic overlook, the lights of Sanctuary Hill below sparkled like jewels in the deepening dusk. Behind them, the higher elevations of the Smoky Mountains rose like hulking shadows, giving Callie an uncomfortable sense of being trapped with no way to escape.

 _Stop being such a scaredy-cat,_ she admonished herself as Dave stepped closer, sliding his arm around her shoulder.

"Is this okay?" he asked.

It wasn't. It was almost shudder-inducing. But she had to play the game, so she smiled and said, "It's fine."

"I don't usually move so quickly when I meet someone new." He had a warm voice, well-modulated, with a hint of southern charm. But beneath it all was a shiftiness that Callie recognized, the well-practiced patter of the huckster. "But something about you intrigues me."

 _Yeah, those non-existent millions._

"You seem strangely familiar."

Her heart skipped a beat. "Familiar?"

"Not to me, of course." His voice lost any hint of warmth, his accent eliding into a hard drawl as his arm tightened around her shoulders. "But to my old pal Kimmy? Real familiar."

Kimmy? Callie tried to pull away from him, but he held her in a crushing grasp. "What are you doing?"

"Ain't that the question we ought to be asking you, Callie?" The familiar drawl came out of the shadows nearby, and Kim Coker stepped into the open, her feral smile gleaming in the remaining light of the dimming day.

"Meryl Allen and Joyce Foster." Alexander Quinn delivered the information in a terse tone that made Frank's blood run cold. There was no inflection, nothing to suggest he was relaying anything more alarming than the day's weather report, but Frank knew the old spook well enough to know that he sounded the calmest when he was the most concerned. "Each was last seen with a man fitting Steve Sanford's description before she disappeared."

The road up the mountain was winding and perilous, but Frank drove as fast as he dared. "Any idea what might have set him off?"

"Both women had shared suspicions about Sanford with friends shortly before their disappearances."

 _Great._ Frank's gut knotted, and he pushed the gas pedal to the floor. Peering up the mountainside, he tried to spot the edge of the overlook again. He was too far away to make out Callie or the man who'd driven her up there, but he couldn't stop himself from looking anyway.

"He was known to have worked with a female accomplice in Mississippi, and a few of his victims remembered his having a female acquaintance who fit the same general description," Quinn added. "Late twenties or early thirties, red or reddish brown hair, fair skin, short and curvy—"

"Kim," Frank growled. "Kim Coker."

Callie's roommate at the Tennessee Prison for Women.

((()))

Just who do you think you're fooling with this game you're playing? And who's that hunky guy you're playing with?" Kim walked around Dave Blaylock, coming to stand in front of Callie. "Are you a cop now?"

Callie laughed. "Me? A cop?"

"You're certainly not a Texas oil heiress," Dave said, giving her a hard shake that made her teeth rattle.

"What, you think you're the only two people in Tennessee who can pull a scam?" Callie made a face at her old cell mate, hoping the terror racing through her wasn't visible. She'd always been good at making up lies on the fly, even if she'd tried very hard over the past few years to shake the habit. "I thought Dave here was a rich old guy looking for a hot little number to make him feel a little less inadequate. And if he wanted to throw some dollars my way, what would it hurt?"

Dave's grip tightened painfully. "Don't try to con a conman, sugar."

"I did a little looking into your situation, Callie. Like how you've been tryin' to walk the straight and narrow since your sister OD'd and left her baby behind. I know you always wanted to be a mama."

She had, back when she'd thought Frank Hardy would be the father. There had been a year or two in prison where she'd still believed she could get out of prison and find Frank, somehow convince him they could still be together, the way they'd planned.

But he never wrote. Never tried to make contact, and she'd given up hope. And after Frank, she'd lost the urge for a home and family.

Until Adelaide.

 _Oh, Addie,_ she thought, despair slamming her like a hammer blow. _If I don't make it out of here, who's going to look after you?_

"And the guy?"

"You mean the bodyguard? He's a guy I hired to make it look like I was on the up and up. I heard all those rich people at the party would have personal security with them—"

"How'd you afford it?" Dave asked. His grip loosened slightly, but not quite enough. She was too close to the edge of the overlook. She might be a big, strong woman, but she couldn't overpower both Dave and Kim if they decided to put her over the rail. And she'd never survive the fall.

"Last I heard, you were losing your job at some honkytonk in the mountains," Kim said. "You telling me that was a scam, too?"

A flash of light swept across the scene, illuminating Kim's face. She squinted, raising her hand to block the glare in her eyes.

Callie felt Dave's body twist behind her, and his grip loosened more.

Now, she thought.

She jerked away from him and tried to move sideways, out of his reach.

But Kim moved more quickly, tackling Callie before she could get far. Callie scrambled to free herself from Kim's grasp, scratching and biting, fighting as dirty as she'd ever done.

If she didn't win this fight, she wouldn't get out of here with her life.

She gave Kim a hard shove, sending the woman reeling backwards, and turned to run.

But she'd gotten turned around in the struggle, she realized about a second too late, her frantic flight taking her right to the unprotected edge of the bluff. As she tried to stop her forward momentum, she grabbed for the end of the metal railing just beyond her reach. Her fingers brushed metal and clung.

But the momentum swung her over the edge anyway, as the ground crumbled beneath her feet and she began to topple over the bluff.

"Callie!"

For a second, she thought she was imagining Frank's deep, frantic voice. Then his strong hands caught hers, arresting her fall.

Gazing up into Frank's face, she felt her frozen heart start beating again.

((()))

You're not just telling me what I need to hear, are you?" From beneath the blanket swaddling her, Callie's voice sounded muffled and girlish. Frank smiled at the memories it evoked.

"Nope. They're both in police custody. Quinn knew the situation was bad and sent the state police when I told him where I was following you." He sat on the sofa beside her and tugged the edge of the blanket down so he could look into her sleepy baby blues. He'd been terrified, for the heart-stopping seconds it took to race from his vehicle to the edge of the overlook, that he wouldn't reach her in time.

Then his hands had closed around hers, her fingers had clasped his, and he could breathe again.

"If you hadn't gotten there when you did—" A shudder rippled through her slim body.

He put his arms around her, tugging her close. "I should have gotten to you a lot sooner than that," he murmured against her temple. "I should have gotten there twelve years ago."

She rubbed her forehead against his jaw. "I used to think you'd figure it out. You'd know I couldn't do what I was accused of—"

"I'm so sorry. I didn't believe it, not at first. But the evidence—" He felt sick, thinking about how hurt she must have felt, how alone. "And you confessed."

"I know." She pushed back the blanket and twisted in his grasp until she could lift both of her strong, cool hands to his face. "I expected from you the kind of trust I didn't give you myself. I'm sorry. I should have told the truth. I should have let Sable deal with the consequences. She might not have been slapped with the same sentence I was, and maybe the consequences would have saved her life."

"You can't know what would have changed."

"I'd be with you," she said, her voice rich with conviction.

"You _are_ with me," he said with equal conviction, cradling her face the way she was holding his. "And if you think I'm going to let you go this time—"

Her lips curved. "I'm still nothing but trouble, Frank."

"Oh, believe me, Callie. That's what I'm counting on." He bent and kissed her. Deeply. Thoroughly.

She broke away a few moments later, gazing up at him with desire-drunk eyes. "I come with even more baggage now."

"Like Adelaide?"

She nodded. "I'm not going to stop trying to get custody."

"I always wanted to have kids with you, Callie. You know that."

"It's a lot of years later."

"Not so many." He kissed the top of her nose. "You want to be Adelaide's mother, right?"

She nodded. "I do."

"Then we'll make it happen."

She looked up at him, tears sparkling on her lower lids. "You're mighty sure of yourself."

"I'm a Marine. We never stop fighting."

"Never?"

"Never." He rested his forehead against hers. "I never stopped loving you, Callie. I never will."

She smiled at him. "That's what _I'm_ counting on."


End file.
